


Ka'ra

by hail_writes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22661518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hail_writes/pseuds/hail_writes
Summary: You have a bounty on your head, and the Mandalorian took it upon himself to turn you in. He didn’t expect the effect you had on him, though.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Din Djarin - Relationship, Din Djarin/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 21
Kudos: 325





	1. Ka'ra

Din didn’t know what to do with you, and he cursed himself for it.

He blames the kid, who weaseled his way into his life and made him soft — made him ignore all logical reason and Mandalorian code as a whole in order to protect it. One small giggle and a hand reach, and he was a goner. But _you_ — you were polite, and curious, and spoke with a soft voice that somehow shook him to the soles of his feet. You had a completely different effect on him, something opposite from the kid. Something he couldn’t necessarily describe.

You were sitting in the cockpit’s passenger seat, hands tied yet still fondling the ears of the kid on your lap. Blank eyes traced the buttons and levers before you— and you had done as much with your hands earlier. But when he had grasped your fingers and pulled them away, he had to remind himself to be gentle.

You were blind. You couldn’t help but feel your way around the world.

Not to mention that you were a Senate daughter, a _princess_ , with a bounty on your head to return you to your family. You had supposedly run away a year ago, fleeing to some backwater planet that even Din didn’t recognize. Your parents had demanded you be returned unharmed, flinging a hefty price at anyone who could do the job. Din had no choice but to be gentle. He needed the money, anyways.

And so he sat and stared at the stars that whizzed by, listening to your voice as you cooed at the kid.

He was surprised at how compliant you were. In reality, you were probably the most willing bounty he’s ever had. He found you in an old shack on the edge of the woods, singing an old tune he didn’t recognize as you prepared a meal. When he clasped shackles onto your wrists and led you to his ship, though, you didn’t fight—in fact, you _agreed_.

But the crestfallen look on your face did no good to Din’s conscience.

However much you lacked in resisting, though, you made up for in blunt curiosity. Maybe it was because you lacked the ability to see, or maybe it was just because you were downright _curious_ about the world— but you asked him question after question after question. Lengthy pauses always followed each answer, but you never actually stopped. You asked him about who he was, who the Mandalorians were, what he looked like, who the child was that clung to you— anything. _Everything._

And perhaps it was because he was already used to rambling to the child, but he answered. Your genuinity weaved its way into his brain and he couldn’t help but respond. _Every single time._

You grew quiet only after the ship entered hyperspace, the child now sleeping in a makeshift crib next to Din’s feet. The silence was … _Off putting,_ to say the least. He resorted to cleaning his smudged beskar with the corner of his cloak to pass the time.

Eventually, though, you spoke.

“May I … Go look around?”

A weight dropped in Din’s chest.

When a bounty asked that— that meant they wanted to escape. They wanted to find a way to fight back, or at least to discover how to slip out quietly when they landed. And that would mean that Din would have to put them under carbon freeze until they were turned in, stacking up cold metal slabs to store for later.

And for some reason, Din didn’t want to look at a hard sheet of metal and see _you._ But he had to remind himself that you were _bounty,_ a walking profit, and he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He wouldn’t go against the code. He _couldn’t._

Din nodded, but then, reminding himself that you couldn’t see, eventually spoke. “Yes,” was all he said— but nonetheless, it felt like he had to drag it up from his chest with both hands.

You thanked him sincerely, and your tone felt like a vine tightening in his chest. He could hear you rise, the tips of your fingers running against metal and your bare feet shifting on the floor. He had turned to watch you go— almost stopped you, in fact— but you had carefully traipsed down the ladder with no significant problems. And then, with the last bit of your hair disappearing from view, you were gone.

For a few moments, the indecision of what to do nearly suffocated him. He wanted to follow you immediately, both to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself (the ship had stray crates and pipes littering the floor) and, well, to keep you around. For some reason, he liked your presence. Despite being in cuffs and in his ship against your will, you were kind to him. Gentle. Genuine. And the kid liked you, too.

But yet again, he had to remind himself: you were bounty. _Bounty. Bounty._

And so he sat, listening to the groans of the ship and the soft sighs of the kid at his feet.

Eventually, though, his antsiness got the better of him. He rose quietly, sidestepping the kid. He moved on silent feet out of the cockpit, then turned the corner to the ladder—

But you were there, clutching a box in your hand as you slowly made your way back up. Sensing Din’s presence, though, you paused at the lip of the ladder. Waiting. In your arms, you had a medical kit, marked with a raised cross on its lid. It was the one Din had stored near his bed for emergencies.

“What are you doing?” Din eventually asked, his tone much harsher than he wanted it to be. You weren’t snooping below— you had come back. Something no other bounty had done.

Slowly, Din stepped back enough for you to raise yourself onto the floor— and you chuckled nervously. Once you were up, you stepped to the side until you leaned against the wall, stabilizing yourself. Feeling where you were.

“I … felt your arm earlier, when you came to get me,” you said, a smile pulling at your mouth. “You had some sort of wound that you hadn’t treated.” Which was true— you had accidentally brushed against a knife wound on his bicep earlier, and he had softly hissed before retreating. You had evidently noticed.

“I didn’t want you to leave the cockpit, so hopefully…” you extended the medical kit towards him, “hopefully this is what you needed.” Your eyes, though unseeing and cloudy, seemed to see straight through him. Seeing past the beskar and the helmet and straight into him.

Din didn’t know how to react to that, so he gingerly took the med kit from your hands instead. He didn’t know how to react at how his chest squeezed, either.

And with a quiet word of thanks, Din watched, mesmerized, as you brushed your chained hands against the wall and felt your way back to the cockpit. He eventually followed— once he got his wits together, at least. And once he had to remind himself that you were bounty a dozen more times. You were to leave soon.

But the fuel tank eventually read ‘LOW,’ and Din had to stop for a few days to refuel before turning you in. A few more days of feeling his chest tighten and listening to your fingers brush against the walls.

He silently thanked the stars.


	2. Be'sol

A few days turned into a week. A week turned into two. And then two weeks turned into three, and he still had you on board.

If he had to excuse himself away, he could. After refueling and returning to the blackness of space, another member of the Guild attacked his ship and blew out an engine. That led Din to make an emergency stop at the nearest planet, hoping to find a mechanic good enough to fix an entire wing of his ship in a day or two. But then he found himself entrenched in another job, trying to come up with the credits to pay the engineer. That took a week.

Once he was back on track, he had stopped at another planet— a small one, sparsely populated and covered in thick rainforest— to feed the little one. Both you and Din could survive on rations, after all, but the kid needed something easier to chew on.

That started off as a measly few hours, but when a group of local villagers begged him to fend off a group of invasive canines the height of the average man— well, he knew he had to help. They paid well enough, anyways. Plus one pleading from you, and he was a goner.

So yes, he could offer excuse after excuse as to why you were still here, with him. But he didn’t _want_ to.

And so here he was, on the ramp leading from his ship and staring at you as you swayed on the grass.

Din had killed the rabid animals that morning, creeping around in the vegetation all night until he managed to spot them. He was exhausted, that much was certain— he ached to his very _bones_. You had convinced him to sleep earlier that day, your voice seeping up underneath his helmet and delicate fingers stopping him by the forearms until he caved. In that moment, he had wondered what it would feel like to touch you. Without the gloves.

He wondered if your skin was as soft as your voice.

He had ended up dozing on the grass for a few hours, but his sleep was fitful enough that he eventually gave up. Instead, he moved his ship to a hill overlooking the village and played with the kid while you talked to the villagers.

If he had to admit it, he had grown used to having you around. It took a day or two for you to memorize your way around the ship, feeling every crack and crevice until you knew where everything was. And then you were off, making yourself at home. As if you belonged there. You had treated the kid as your own, too, taking care of him when Din couldn’t. Before he found you, Din loathed the fact that his job was dangerous enough to the point where leaving the kid _alone_ was better than taking him with him. But now . . . now you were with the child. Now he could sleep better at night and take jobs without a guilty conscience.

And so Din adjusted, sleeping on a makeshift cot to let you and the kid sleep in his own bed. Setting aside extra rations for you, just in case. Keeping a hand out whenever you stepped someplace outside the ship, warning you of any bumps or objects along the path. He even made a cane for you out of wood he purchased, just so you could feel your way around easier. Din adjusted— almost too easily.

That night, the villagers were celebrating. Drinks and food were passed around while music blared, and you participated, but eventually the kid grew tired and you all retired to the ship. Din put the kid down, wrapping him in a pile of blankets on his cot before shutting the door. And then there he was, watching you from the ramp.

You swayed where you sat, fiddling with blades of grass as you listened to the distant music from the villagers. Hair brushed against your cheeks from the wind, but you paid it no mind. Instead, you were focused wholly on the music, eyes staring blankly ahead as you hummed—

And then your head shifted to the side, and a smile pulled at your lips.

“Is it beautiful?” You asked.

Din didn’t know exactly what you were talking about. “Yes,” he said anyways.

That seemed to satisfy you, and you hummed in contentment. “I think I would’ve liked to see it.”

He assumed you were talking about the village, about the firelight in the distance sparkling amongst the stars. It was beautiful indeed, but he didn’t need to look at it. Instead, he kept looking at you.

Din basked in the silence for a moment, and then began stepping down the ramp towards you. But then you spoke, and he stopped in his tracks.

“I think I would’ve liked to see you,” you said. Softly, secretly, as if he wasn’t meant to hear it.

And then you raised your voice slightly, enough for him to hear better. “You describe yourself to me. I can hear your armor, your footsteps. I can hear your voice through your helmet. But that’s all,” you said, then paused. “That’s all.”

He hated the somberness in your tone. He hated the way your hand clenched and unclenched slowly, raised above your lap. He hated the fact that he, somehow, made you feel discontentment.

From where he was frozen on the ramp, Din ground out, “What can I do?”

That seemed to catch you off guard, and you slowly lowered your hand to your lap. For a moment, you seemed to fight for words—but when Din began to walk again and stepped down onto the grass, you spit out, “Can I feel you?”

Din paused, staring at you. You were biting your lip, hard, with your hands clasped against your stomach. And then he reminded himself that for you, to touch was to see.

You wanted to see him. You wanted to _learn_ him.

And so he slowly walked forward and lowered himself next to you, ignoring the tightness in his chest.

At his presence, you grinned brightly— but when when he lightly grabbed your hand and placed it atop his own, that smile dropped to something else. Something softer.

He could feel your fingers press against his hand through his gloves, itching to move, to explore. But still, you waited. Until—

“Yes,” Din said.

You shifted then, turning towards him more fully and pulling his hand into your lap. He could feel the heat of your thighs, your hands, seeping into his gloves, and he nearly fell apart. But then . . . Then, with one hand, you slowly started tracing his form, the other palm busy grasping his fingers. You began at the tips of his gloves, tracing over the buttons and gadgets lining his wrist and then the beskar at his forearm. And then you moved up, up, up, until you were running your fingers across his chest.

As you felt, you also spoke, asking him what color everything was. He answered mindlessly, too hypnotized by your touch—

But then his mouth got the better of him, and he whispered, “How do you know colors?”

Your hand stopped over his heart, fingertips slipping in between his shirt and chest plate. And then you laughed, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if you could feel his heart thump in return.

“Blind people understand color in different ways,” you said. A grin still pulled at your lips. “It helps us . . . categorize the world.” And then you paused. “Besides, I wasn’t always like this.”

That made Din hesitate. You continued your ministrations, slowly rubbing at the fabric of his shirt along his collar bones, spending more time there than anywhere else. He spoke when you reached his neck, feeling the edge of his helmet.

“If I may ask. . .” he swallowed, “what happened?”

_no, no. Stupid, stupid, stupid—_

You fell silent at that, focusing solely on the shape of his helmet. It was only when Din nearly apologized for his abruptness when you answered.

“My parents, my family . . . They are not good people,” you said quietly. For a moment, you traced the metal beneath his eyes. “I have . . . abilities, talents, that are stronger than they should be. And they wanted for themselves. They wanted to control me.” And then you swallowed, your expression going blank. “They thought acid would do the trick.”

For a moment, Din couldn’t focus, still processing your words. But when it sunk in like a weight in his stomach, he couldn’t breathe.

If he looked hard enough, he could see irregularities in the skin surrounding your eyes, your temples, your cheeks. Acid burns healed over.

The idea that a family would do something to their _daughter_ , a woman who was softness incarnate, who didn’t even hesitate to help her former _enemy_ —

He wanted to kill them.

You could evidently feel the anger seeping through him, because your hand slid from his chest to his other hand. He didn’t notice how hard he was clenching his fist until your fingers pulled them apart.

“It’s alright, it’s over now,” you said, squeezing both of his hands now.

But no, no it wasn’t.

Because Din had taken you as a bounty. He had tracked you, imprisoned you, and planned on taking you back into the arms of the monsters you had run from in the first place. And for a moment, Din felt that he was choking.

He couldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t hurt you.

“Come with me,” Din eventually ground out, standing up suddenly and pulling you to your feet by both hands. You made a noise of protest—but he was already walking, leading you to his ship. Once you were safely inside with the ramp raised, he pulled out a crate and had you sit.

It took him only a moment to grab his medical kit from beneath his bed. And then he was back, straddling the crate with you in front of him.

“What are you—“

“I need you to trust me,” Din said, quietly. Guilt had lodged itself in his throat at that point, permitting him to speak any louder than a whisper.

And then he pulled out his tracking fob, its beeping filling the air. He swept it over your body until he found where it was— the tracker, slipped just underneath the skin of your left bicep. Once he found it, he made no hesitation in crushing the device on the floor.

“I need to remove a tracker from your arm,” Din said, watching your scrunched brows smooth. ”You need to roll up your sleeve.”

A breath escaped him when you slowly obeyed, folding your sleeve up until it was tucked securely on your shoulder. Din removed his gloves then, slowly reaching up to trace your bicep with calloused fingers. He had to ignore how utterly _soft_ you were.

Stuffing down his thoughts, felt it immediately: a small square, just underneath your skin. Once he found the exact location, he took out the necessary tools from his kit. And then he waited.

“May I?”

At the idea of him having to cut open your skin, you blanched— but in the end, you nodded. Albeit slowly.

“Okay.”

After cleaning the skin around the tracker, he tried to move as swiftly as he could. He didn’t like the tenseness in your face, nor the hiss you made when he sliced open your skin. But he made quick work of it, and soon he had a tracker resting on his thigh and a few stitches in your arm. He set the medical kit aside, and with one firm press, the tracker was destroyed. He cleaned up silently.

Once Din was finished, he turned to you. You were breathing shakily. Likely processing everything.

Slowly, carefully, he unfolded your sleeve, letting it glide down your arm. His fingers paused at your hand. For a moment, he allowed himself to touch you— not out of necessity, but because he _wanted_ to. And then he felt his callouses scratch your skin, and his hand retreated to his side.

The two of you sat in silence, ironically for longer than Din would’ve liked. And then his voice cut through the tension like a knife:

“You should stay.”

You moved at that, evidently caught off guard. One of your hands dropped to the crate, eerily close to his thigh.

“. . .What do you mean?” The question was rough, raspy, likely matching Din’s own voice.

Din cleared his throat. “You seem to enjoy it here—and the villagers have taken a liking to you. You could be safe here,” he reasoned.

For a moment, he watched as you chewed on the idea.

“Would you be here?” you asked.

Din nearly choked. Though he wanted to—

“No.”

You paused again. “Would the baby be here?”

Again, though he wanted to, no. The kid’s tracker wasn’t physical like he had hoped. He couldn’t simply take out and destroy a tracker like yours; something bigger was at play here.

“No.”

You hummed, and Din didn’t fail to notice that your thumb absently began tracing his knee.

“Then no, I think I’ll stay with you.”

The answer both warmed Din to his fingertips and stopped him cold— though he liked your company, he didn’t want to risk your safety—

“You seem to not have anyone you can trust,” you continued, picking up on his panic. “And the baby needs someone when you’re out working. And . . . I like it here,” you added. “It feels safe.”

Din weighed everything out. He would be risking your safety, yes, but . . . really, he couldn’t be assuring your safety on this planet, either. Other people seemed to be out looking for you, tracking fob or no.

Plus, being here would be beneficial. For both the kid _and_ him. Especially the kid, who had taken a liking to you almost instantly. And you said that you _wanted_ to be there.

Perhaps . . .

Perhaps he didn’t have to make up excuses to keep you on board anymore. Perhaps you wouldn’t have to, either.

“Okay,” he said.

And that was that.


	3. Kar'ta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "heart, soul"

After everything that had happened, Din was having a hard time keeping his impulses under control.

It’s been three months since he first captured you as bounty, and two since he officially released you— crushing your tracking fob under his boot as you insisted you stay with him. The baby ended up clinging to you as if you were his own mother; that was helpful, though, as it made his bounty hunting work a lot easier to complete. After having the kid around for so long, he forgot how much _easier_ his job was to do when he didn’t have to worry about the baby’s safety so much. You had a talent of taking care of him, which was something Din couldn’t deny. That—along with the fact that you seemed to charm everyone you met— made Din’s life much smoother than he anticipated.

What made it complicated, though, was his own cursed _feelings_ getting in the way.

If he thought it was bad before, it was even worse now. Ever since the two of you made your agreement, you had seemed to flourish— spreading your roots wider and deeper in his life than before, now that you had his permission. Love and care and attention focused on the baby, Din could handle. But all of that focused on _him_ —

Well, he simply didn’t know how to handle it.

Ever since the night on the jungle grasses, fleeting touches became a common thing for you. Grasping at his forearm, tracing the metal of his helmet and shoulders, holding his hands anbd rubbing the bare skin at his wrist— everything. Anything. You had mentioned time and time again that it was to help you “see” him, but the way your eyes fluttered and breath hitched when you touched his wrist said differently.

He wasn’t going to lie that he felt the same way. Denying it felt too suffocating. As a kid, he was loved and cherished and held, but after his parents were ripped from him and he was saved by the Mandalorians— well, to put it simply, Mandalorians don’t touch. Or nurture that softly.

It took him months of taking care of the child for him to finally recognize that he yearned physical contact.

At first, allowing your touches felt . . . awkward, to say the least. It felt as if he was going against his code somehow, though he knew he wasn’t explicitly disobeying. Eventually, though, he accepted it. Leaned into your hands. Secretly chased after your fingers like a drowning man longing for air. And he had been trying to keep it to just that.

One afternoon, he was in the cockpit, having just landed the _Razor Crest_ in a clearing in Takodana. It was stuffy, and you had just taken out the baby to eat, so he had folded the neck of his shirt down for a moment to let his skin breathe. He had even taken his gloves off, too.

And then you came in to tell him about the child sipping on some broth on the cot, and your hand had naturally rested on the juncture of his neck and shoulder—

He nearly jumped out of his own skin. Din was used to you stroking the skin of his wrist, fingertips slipping underneath his sleeves. Anywhere else, he was used to a buffer of clothing in between your hands and his skin. But this, _this_ —

He felt you tense at his reaction, but you didn’t move. Instead, you slowly moved your pointer finger, softly stroking small circles on his neck. Gauging his reaction. Waiting.

Din felt like he couldn’t breathe. Or move. Or think.

“Din?” you eventually called. If he remembered right, you had asked him a question. He just couldn’t recall exactly _what_ you had said— not when you were touching him like that, at least. It made his skin buzz underneath his armor and his chest feel heavy and his head wash out any competent thought.

“Ex-. . . Excuse me,” Din eventually ground out, forcing himself to stand and step away from you. It took more effort than he thought to move— but eventually he was descending the ladder, collapsing on a nearby crate and leaving you alone in the cockpit. He had to clench his hands against his thighs and force his breathing to calm. And then he was looking around for something, anything, to distract him from wanting to go back up there and grab you and never leave.

A coo sounded to his right, and he sighed in relief. Because there the child was, setting his bowl of soup down on the cot and climbing down, teetering towards Din. And then he was at Din’s leg, patting the beskar at Din’s shins and giggling.

Din pulled him to his lap, and the baby immediately went to tapping at the signet on Din’s right shoulder. A Mudhorn. _A clan of two._

Din looked to the ladder.

“What am I going to do?” he muttered aloud. The baby only gurgled in response.

* * *

For a few days, everything was stable. He had taken a few jobs on Takodana, ones that were easy and inconspicuous enough to not draw any unwanted attention. You had taken care of the baby while Din was gone, sometimes slipping into a nearby bazaar when supplies ran low— but other than that, everything was alright. It was safe. Stable.

And if it wasn’t for the fact that something was off between you and Din, he would have considered the last few days _good_. But he had been avoiding you, and he hated it, so it wasn’t.

Frankly, it was because Din couldn’t figure out what it was, exactly, that he felt when he was around you. Every time you were near, he felt a phantom touch on his neck and his skin buzzed. Something would stir, deep in his belly, and he would feel _warm_. And more than once, he caught himself reaching out to you, just to touch. To hold.

But he couldn’t do that. Not to you. He was here to keep you and the child safe, not to get you involved in his mess of emotions. You didn’t deserve that.

And so he avoided you, only speaking to you and holding you and being _near_ you when absolutely necessary.

It wasn’t until late one evening when he broke, stumbling up the ramp bloody and bruised. A mission went wrong, yet he survived while the others didn’t— but not without wounds, including a deep gash right above his chest plate. Too close to his heart.

You were fiddling with something inside one of the crates, but hopped up and the sound of him stumbling in. Though you couldn’t see, Din could tell that you knew something was wrong. Your brows were scrunched and lips down turned, and you opened your mouth to question him—

“Medkit,” Din wheezed, trying to lower himself against the wall. But then he tripped over a protruding pipe, and he cried out, banging his head on the floor and landing on his stomach. The gash in his chest screamed with pain.

You were at his side in an instant, calling his name over and over to get his attention. But then you kneeled in his own blood, your hands reddening in the warm liquid, and your expression panicked. Distantly, Din could hear the baby begin to cry, whining in protest. Likely petrified at the blood pooling from him.

With shaking hands, you ran a hand over his back, feeling for any holes or damp clothing. When you found none, you called out to him.

“Din,” you said, voice shaking. “Din, I need you to turn onto your back. Din—“

Din let out a groan, and he tried— he _tried_ — to roll onto his back, but the blood was everywhere and his gloves where slippery—

With strong hands, you grabbed him by the arm and turned him, letting him fall to his back. And then ever so softly, you pulled off his armor, piece by piece falling onto the bloodied floor. Then you reached for his helmet—

“No,” Din coughed out. It was quiet and raspy, but you heard anyways. He had told you before the significance of the helmet, and the consequences of removing it— and along with the fact that he knew he didn’t have any head injuries, he knew he couldn’t let you remove it. You knew it, too.

Your hands lowered.

For a small moment, Din watched as you paused. Likely weighing out the options.

Then you spoke.

“Do you trust me?” you asked. And Din watched as your hands floated inches above his chest, carefully coming to rest atop his wound. It stung, and Din wheezed, but you continued to wait.

“Yes,” Din said. Without question, without hesitation. “Yes.”

You breathed, cloudy eyes staring straight through his helmet and into his eyes. And then you closed your eyes, fingers slightly twitching against his chest, and you let out a calm, steady breath—

As soon as you exhaled, the air around him seemed to freeze, slowing to a complete stop around everywhere but your hands. And then the stabbing, stinging sensation in his chest began to subside, and his breathing evened out . . . and then, as if a small, delicate rope was wrapped around his mind, he felt himself being slowly tugged back into his own body. Back into awareness.

For a moment, the weight that was removed from his chest was so relieving that he lost focus. But then you jumped back as if struck, hands reaching back to brace yourself, and Din forced himself upright. The air around him began to move again, and he felt . . . normal. As if the slice in his chest never occurred.

With a shaking hand, he reached up to feel his chest— and, past the fresh blood, he felt smooth skin. Unblemished from the knife that had cut through him earlier.

He wanted to speak, but he felt his mind run blank with shock. Because the baby—he could do the same thing. Had had _done_ the same thing, multiple times.

Is that why the kid was drawn to you, as much as he was? Because the two of you had the same . . . _magic_ , flowing through your veins?

“You . . . you,” was all he could sputter out.

You sat a few feet away from him then, bloodied hands pressed flat against your thighs. The baby had waddled to your side, sniffling, but you had lightly pushed him out of the trail of blood. Slowly, your head tilted to the side, away from the both of them.

You looked ashamed.

“I . . .” Din began, quietly, but his voice was enough to stir you into action.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you said. You face and tone was void of all emotion, and it made Din’s chest seize. Something was wrong.

He didn’t argue, though, only obeyed quietly as you brought out the medkit and had him strip of his armor and shirt. And then you were both sitting on a crate, Din frozen still as you ran a damp cloth over his chest and arms, cleaning him of his blood. You did so quietly, which was unnerving to Din.

With a slight tilt of his head, he gauged your expression. Your brows were scrunched, and you bit your lip, and you were entirely _too_ focused on scrubbing the skin of his shoulder—

“What’s wrong?” Din asked softly. The look in your face made his stomach twist.

For a minute, you didn’t respond, only focused on cleaning the hairs and skin on his chest of blood. But then you paused at his sternum, releasing a shaky breath, and spoke.

“I . . . I felt you,” you whispered. You dropped the rag then, and a hand slowly creeped up to rest against his heart. Skin to skin, in a way that made Din find it hard to breathe.

“I felt it when they hurt you, somewhere deep inside me. I felt a twist in my chest, and I knew.”

When he looked back over at you, he could see your eyes turning glassy. And then a tear streamed down your cheek, and he felt something break inside of him.

With a shaking, bare hand, Din reached up and cupped your cheek, stroking a thumb under your eye. He almost pulled back when he saw streaks of dried blood along the heel of his hand— but he didn’t, because by you were leaning into his palm and closing your eyes. And for a moment, he thought that everything _fit_ : his palm on your cheek, your hand on his chest, the way your free hand moved and folded over his own— it felt natural. Instinctual. As if it was always meant to be that way.

You ended up moving—but instead of shifting away, you grabbed the hand on your cheek and intertwined your fingers together. And then you leaned forward, slowly resting your head against Din’s shoulder.

“I hate seeing you hurt,” you whispered, sounding so broken that it made Din’s chest cleave open even wider. “I can’t . . .”

“I know,” was all he said, tugging you closer until you were completely pressed against him. He wanted to help you, to eliminate your pain—he wanted to _so badly_ — but he couldn’t. Bounty hunting was all he knew; getting injured was merely a side affect of his responsibility. Scars littered his body to prove it. And until he found you a new home and until he ripped the stars apart to keep the both of you safe, he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Though he yearned to feel your skin against his completely, he settled for brushing the metal of his helmet against the top of your head. And then slowly, gently, he gave into temptation and pressed his lips against the beskar, the only buffer between his mouth and the crown of your head.

Oh, how he wished it wasn’t there.

Din didn’t want to move— but it wasn’t like he could have, anyways. He felt frozen in place, both buzzing all over and completely relaxed simultaneously. Your hands were anchors, chaining him to the floor—but he was okay with it. It made him feel . . . calm. Whole.

And when you began to doze off, likely exhausted from healing him, he let you sit there, cradled against his chest. It must have been hours—though it only felt like moments before he let you go, carrying you to the cot where the baby was already sleeping.

He managed to pull the blankets up over you and adjust the sheets covering the baby before you stirred. The room was tiny, barely enough for him to fit himself, so it took little effort for you to shift and settle a palm against his chest.

“Stay,” you breathed, brushing your fingers against his sternum. “Stay. Please.” And then you cleared your throat— “You . . . You need rest, after losing so much blood. Stay.”

At that, he nearly fell apart.

Though it was a tight squeeze and likely would end up uncomfortable, he stayed. He kicked off his shoes and crawled underneath the blankets, pressing himself as close to the wall as possible. It ended up with you almost completely on top of him in order to give the baby room in the corner, and it was stuffy, but it _fit_.

And so with you atop his chest and the baby curled up near his head, Din fell asleep, feeling completely whole.


	4. Suvarir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "understand."

After that night, sleeping in the cot had become routine for Din.

He had ended up crafting a makeshift crib for the baby, setting it at the foot of the cot and making it high enough off the ground for the baby to pat Din’s feet, just in case he needed something. That left both you and Din with slightly more room than you had before. It was still cramped, however, and so you took it upon yourself to lay almost completely on top of him every night.

He didn’t mind, though. Not one bit. Because when he would wake up in the middle of the night, breathing heavy from the dreams that plagued him, you would be there. You would run your hands over his shoulders and toe his calves and tuck your head just underneath his helmet, and it would calm him. Every time.

The nightmares were too common, though, and so it took no more than a week for you to question him. He didn’t hesitate to tell you about them: his parents, the desolation of his home town, the droid that stuck a gun in between his eyes—everything.

And he told you just how helpless he felt, watching his parents put him in that shelter and _stay outside_ , just to protect him. The dread he felt when walking outside in the arms of the Mandalorian, just to be unable to find their bodies.

That night, he watched you wept—for him. And though he wanted to, and though his entire _being_ shook with unshed tears, he didn’t find the strength to let them fall. He couldn’t. The last time he cried was when his parents were killed, when his town—his _planet_ —was attacked. He hadn’t been able to do so since.

And so, with trembling hands, he pulled you to him again, silently folding himself over you in a way that became so _familiar_ to him. And you held onto him in return. You breathed against his neck and held his hand against your heart, and it told him everything he needed to hear.

The day after that, everything was back to normal: Din had another tracker in his pocket, and the baby was toddling after him around the ship as per usual. You had taken to fixing the protruding pipes around the ship, demanding to do something productive. He had questioned you at that—but you merely clicked your tongue.

“ _We can’t have you tripping anymore, Din_.”

With that he shrugged, leaving you to shift the pipes around with a wave of your hand.

In all honesty, he was still slightly freaked out by that, even after months of taking care of the child. But the baby seemed to enjoy your tricks, and he even sometimes _responded_ to them with his own little brand of magic, so Din could deal with it. He was still no closer to figuring out what, exactly, it was, though.

Din brought up as much to you later that afternoon as you both sat in the cockpit. You had taken it upon yourself to clean one of his vibro-knives, feeling for any pieces of grit on the blade and wiping at it with a cloth.

“I . . . I’m not sure I know either,” you had said, rubbing the knife a little harder. “I know what it feels like, and I know what it can do, and I know how to use it. That’s just about it.”

At that, Din had tilted his head to look at you.

“Can you explain?” He asked—and then, after seeing your scrunched brows, “You know more than I do, it seems.”

You nodded, expression smoothing as you understood. And then you opened your mouth to speak—

The baby, somewhere outside the cockpit, chose that precise moment to let out a high pitched squeal, effectively stopping your train of thought. You chuckled.

“Later,” you said. Then you stood, but not before leaning forward and kissing the cheek of his helmet.

That made Din freeze, but only for a moment. Because once you began to retreat, he spun his chair around—and before he could fully process his own actions, he had already grasped your hand and held you in place by his fingers. You didn’t seem fazed, though. In fact, by the quirk of your brow, Din might have thought of you as _amused_.

Din didn’t know what that meant. He only knew that he _needed_ to touch you, and that was it.

But he knew better than to anchor you, and once he got ahold of his own body again, he was releasing his grip. “Later,” he rasped.

Later.

 _Later_ didn’t come until three days after, though, when he had taken a pit stop on Navarro to recruit the help of Cara Dune for another bounty mission. Cara had taken to fighting for credits again, doing the same thing she had done on Sorgan. All Din had to do was walk in during another fight, catch Cara’s attention, and wait for a time to sit down and explain the mission—over a meal, of course. The baby needed to eat, anyways.

“I leave for four months and you get yourself a wife,” was Cara’s introduction, sighing as she sat on the chair next to the baby and stroked his ear. “I’m honestly surprised, you never seemed like the type to settle down.”

Though it settled under his skin a bit, he ignored Cara’s jests—but you coughed abruptly at his side, nearly choking on your soup and dropping your walking cane to the floor, and it distracted him completely. He noticed Cara’s face shift when he splayed a hand on your back—genuine surprise, then . . . amusement, perhaps?

He ignored it.

Instead, he introduced you—you had greeted her politely, explaining who you were, and Cara seemed to warm up to you quickly—before diving straight into the details of the mission. Cara had unsurprisingly agreed, planning to leave with the three of you the next morning.

Cara offered you all a room for the night, demanding that you didn’t sleep in that “ _wreck of a ship_ “— and so there you were, sitting in front of a fireplace with the baby in between you two and a large bed at your backs. The baby had long since fallen asleep, collapsed against Din’s thigh and bundled up in his little oversized coat. 

For what seemed like an eternity, the two of you sat in silence. You were mindlessly stroking the baby’s ear while he slept, basking in the heat of the fire—and Din just watched. Wholly entranced by your entire _being_ that he couldn’t help but stare.

And then you spoke.

“It feels like strings,” you said quietly. Whispering it into the fireplace, as if he wasn’t meant to hear.

“It feels like strings, tying my hands and my chest to everything around me. And sometimes I can shape them, bend them into doing whatever I want. I can heal with it, and I can _control_ things. As if they were a part of me.”

And then you heaved a heavy, shuddering sigh.

“My parents would made me take apart an X-Wing, when I was younger. Pull it apart, piece by piece, and then put it back together again, all without touching it. And I didn’t know why I could do it, or how. Just that I _could_.”

You paused. And then—

“I think that’s why they took my sight from me. They knew just how much I could do.”

The hand on the baby’s ear had long since stilled, retreating back onto your lap. But Din grasped your fingers in his just at it brushed your thigh, intertwining them with his own. Slowly. Carefully, minding your shaking fingers. But that seemed to do the trick, and your trembling began to fade as quickly as it started.

If he was completely honest, the thought of just how _immense_ your abilities are rattled him. And knowing that neither of you knew precisely what it was— that made it worse. But the fact that you were abused and tortured because of it and you still _stood_ — it washed all of that down, soothing his nerves and dropping a weight in his chest. A weight that felt like sadness and anger and adoration and something _else_ , something that he had a hard time accepting.

“Let’s go to bed,” was all he could say, as gravelly and quiet as it was.

He stripped down to his trousers and helmet while you set the baby down in a nearby crib, and then you were crawling into bed. The bed was much bigger than you were used to—but still, you remained close to him, laying chest to chest on your sides.

Though Din always felt like a wildfire was raking through his nerves every time you touched him, he found himself unable to _stop_. Especially when night would fall, because you would always crawl on top of him, curling around him as if you were always meant to be there. And he liked the feeling of your toes brushing his ankles, your hand against his chest. He liked the way that he could _feel_ you breathe. Tonight was no different.

For a few moments, it was silent, and all Din could hear was your breathing. Your eyelids were fluttering, and your mouth was parted, and—

Din couldn’t help himself from reaching up and cupping your cheek. From tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Din?” you breathed, lips shifting against his fingertip. Din only grunted in response.

“I want to kiss you.”

That made him pause. It made him begin to _think_ again.

Because of _course_ he wanted to do the same. His skin had been thrumming and his hands had been itching and his entire _being_ had been yearning to do the same for _weeks_ , but . . .

“I know.”

It was a measly excuse of a response, and it was low and quiet, but you seemed to understand.

You hummed in response, and then you settled with kissing the pad of his thumb. That was all you could do.

And as you fell asleep with his hand still cupping your face, Din felt the resolve within him crack.

* * *

Din arose early the next morning, leaving you and the baby to rest while he hashed out a plan with Cara. The bounty was hiding out on Sorgan—on the other side of the planet from the village he and Cara had helped, but still similar terrain nonetheless. And so he and Cara figured out a plan and packed up, and the four of you returned to the ship.

It turned out the bounty had been robbing a local village, causing too much trouble for the civilians—which news consequently spread like a wildfire. With Cara’s help, it took less than a couple days to hunt down the rat and turn him in nearby, getting handed more credits than what Din had bargained for and splitting them with the ex-soldier. The villagers even let you all stay for a few days longer, letting you rest and relax for a while. It seemed hospitality was common on the planet.

However, Din had the feeling that they too assumed you were Din’s wife, or lover, or something else of the sort. They gave the two of you only a single cot to sleep in— on purpose, Din realized, as the prints on the dusty floor showed very obvious signs of having another bed. Din has voiced as much to you, but you merely shrugged it off. He almost offered to ask for another bed—but you were long gone by then, already walking outside with the baby to talk with the villagers more. That was that.

The villagers took a liking to you, that much was certain. It wasn’t uncommon for you to be adorned in garlands, wrapped around your neck and stacked upon your head until it became almost comical. Gaggles of children split their time between the baby and you, too. And sometimes they would brush by Din, captivated by the armor, but they always left. Seemingly too scared to do anything further.

He was fine with that, though. He had you and the baby, and that was all that mattered.

He couldn’t find any time to spend with you until later that evening, when the villagers were prepping for supper and you had resorted to unpacking your abundance of gifts in your shared cabin. Some had even turned out to be for _him_ , too, much to his surprise.

For a while, the two of you talked about random things— the villagers, the baby, Cara. The children that had taken in the child as if he was one of their own. Anything, everything.

And then things got quiet for a minute, and Din get something in the air shift.

“Din?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Yes?”

Though your back was turned, Din could sense the gears turning in your head as you paused. Considering.

“One of the villagers knew your native tongue. _Mando’a_. She spoke in it often.” And then you turned slightly, facing Din halfway.

“She called you my _riduur_ a lot. Or my _ka’rta_. I don’t know what it means.”

For a moment, Din didn’t speak, both captivated at your voice speaking his tongue and caught off guard that the villager knew _Mando’a_ , of all languages. He didn’t end up processing your implications until you were sitting down next to him, the heat of your thighs pressed against his own. Your hand finding his knee.

“ _Riduur_. . .”—It came out more gravelly than expected, so he cleared his throat—“ _riduur_ means _spouse_. They think of us as married.” And though it felt awkward and made his chest feel a little too warm, the idea of you being his was brought up so often over the past few days that it almost felt _normal_ to speak about. He tried not to think about it.

“And _kar’ta_ means _heart_ , or _soul_.”

That one struck a little bit harder than he anticipated, feeling like a blow to the chest. It settled deep in his belly, folding over itself and rolling around in his thoughts until it became nearly incomprehensible. _Soul. Soul._

His _soul._

“Oh,” was all you said. Small and quiet.

 _Oh_.

He felt the same.

You paused for a moment, and then . . .

“I think I should tell you something,” you said. And Din could see you swallow, hear the shake in your voice. He could feel your nervousness as if it was his own. And then you shifted, cloudy eyes twitching restlessly about as you rested a hand on his thigh.

“I—“

Distantly, the dinner bell rung, echoing through the cabin windows. Your mouth fell slack, silent, but Din still waited.

“Later,” was all you said. “Later.” And then you stood, grabbed your cane, and left.

After taking care of the baby toddling after his feel and making sure he was well fed, Din disappeared into your shared bedroom to eat some of the cooked fish and rice himself. You gave him space, keeping the kid entertained for almost an hour until he began to doze against your shoulder. And so you slowly walked back to the cabin, careful to not trip over anything while keeping the baby tucked close against your neck.

Din was already waiting, having cleaned his armor and weapons and prepped himself for bed. He took the sleeping child from your arms and gave you time to wash up while he put the baby down--which took much longer than expected, given that the baby liked to form a death-like grip on his shirt. But eventually the kid went down, snuggling into his sheets, and Din turned to head to the cot.

Only to find you in one of his spare shirts.

Din stopped dead in his tracks.

You evidently noticed the abrupt pause in his movements, because you shrugged sheepishly.

"I . . . couldn't find my pajamas," was all you said. As if you, standing there, with the sleeves rolling past your fingertips and the hem of his shirt touching your thighs didn't _do_ things to him--

And then you slowly found your way to the cot and laid down, and Din thought he might combust.

It took him much longer than necessary to find the ability to _walk_ again--but eventually he was forcing his legs to move, crawling onto the cot beside you. And then you molded yourself around him, like usual, and Din found himself unable to keep his hands _off_ of you. Running up and down your back, playing with the tips of your hair. Holding the back of your thigh, right above the bend of your knee. Anything. Everything.

You hummed quietly, the noise muffled by the crook of his neck. And then your hand lifted to cup his nape, just underneath his helmet.

And odd twinge was felt his chest, and Din knew exactly what you were going to say before you said it.

“Remind me again,” you asked—nearly _begged_ , your voice strained and quiet. The hand cupping his neck twitched. In response, Din pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around your waist and hand splaying against the small of your back.

“I—I swore it,” he breathed. His voice was much thicker than he anticipated. It was almost impossible to speak past the lump in his throat, the burning in his chest.

“No . . . No living being can see me without my helmet. It’s The Way.” And he had repeated that line in his head _so often_ since he met you, and it nearly killed him.

You released a breathy chuckle, and at that point you were so close that your breath fogged up the bottom of his viewplate. “Din, I can’t _see_.”

He knew that. He _knew_. And by the stars, he weighed out the options _so many times_ —

“I know. I just—“

Din paused then, nearly feeling like he was choking on his own words.

Because in all reality, Din knew that there was a loophole. He knew that he could rip his helmet off and kiss you senseless and he wouldn’t be breaking a single thing, just because you couldn’t _see_ him. But the thought of doing precisely that, of baring his face for you to touch and to kiss and to _learn_ . . .

It terrified him.

“I know,” was all you said. You didn’t seem hurt, or offended, or even angry—in fact, you seemed _understanding_. As if you saw right through Din’s trembling words and knew exactly what he was implying.

“I know.” And then your thumb raised up slightly, just to brush against the stubble of his jaw.

“It’s okay. I know.”

* * *

For a few days, Din forced himself to remain under control.

In all reality, everything was _normal_. The four of you remained on the planet for another day before departing, and Din dropped Cara back on Navarro before getting another bounty from Greef—this time much farther away— and heading off-world.

And that left a few days with just you and the baby, in complete isolation amongst the stars. Which would have been perfectly fine--if not for the fact that Din had to fight the urge to rip off his helmet and tackle you to the floor nearly every _minute._

Frankly, Din didn't know what to do with himself.

The baby kept him busy though, as he was becoming more creative with his abilities. He discovered a newfound love of floating the metal ball--now fully claimed as _his_ \--above his head. Sometimes, though, he threw it at Din. Hard.

And so the baby continued to be a distraction for him. But when the kid was sleeping, or when you were just simply _near_ him, Din had a hard time concentrating.

For days, Din weighed out the options in his head. Balanced everything he wanted and felt about _you_ against his fears. And somehow, that fear still debilitated him, kept him from acting. He didn't know why.

That led him to that evening--or morning, or afternoon, or _whatever_ time it was in that section of space--brooding in the cockpit, the door closed as he ate his meal. His helmet rested on the seat behind him.

A knock sounded at the door. And then it opened.

With a leap from his chair, Din raced for his helmet and slammed it on his head. Breathing heavily. And you--you were standing in the doorway, hand still raised, mouth parted in an 'o'.

You were the first one to move.

"You had your helmet off, didn't you?" And then, more to yourself--"oh, i'm such an _idiot_ \--"

"It's fine," Din said, cutting you off. "It's fine." And then he turned, slowly heading back to his seat, loathing every _second_ of it--

"You can trust me, you know," you whispered. And then louder, "You don't have to hide from me."

From behind him, Din could head you heave a shaking breath. "I know there's a loophole, because I can't see. And I know you can take off your helmet without me knowing and frankly, it would take me a bit to _notice_ " --you chucked--"but . . . if you don't want to, it's fine. If you don't want to even _risk_ going against your code or you just don't feel comfortable or you don't even _want_ me like I want you, then it's fine.

"I just . . . I don't want you to be scared, that's all. No matter what, I want you to trust me. Because no matter what you do--I understand. I understand."

And then you began to move, likely to check on the baby. Giving him space.

"Wait."

But he said it too quietly, and you were still leaving--

" _Cyar'ika, wait_."

You paused, stepping back into his line of sight.

And that was it. He couldn’t take it anymore.

In two strides, he was at your side, pulling you into the cockpit.

In one move, his helmet clattered to the floor.

In another, he was gently tugging you in by the side of your neck, the other hand trailing down to the small of your back. And then his face was nearing your own, his nose brushing your cheek, his mouth ever so close to your own—

But still, he waited.

It took you a moment to process— and then you _laughed_. You grinned from ear to ear, your eyes scrunching, your hands finding purchase on his chest and absolutely _glowing_ —

“Finally,” you breathed.

And then you kissed him, slowly, gently. Letting him figure his way around you, letting him explore the way your lips moved against his and how _alive_ he felt—

For a moment, he pulled back, just to allow himself to breathe. And then he saw your eyes flutter open, your kiss-reddened lips parting into a grin, and he couldn’t help but kiss you senseless all over again.

He poured everything into it—peppering your nose, your cheeks, your chin, your mouth with kisses, silently telling you everything he wanted to say. Every fear, every desire, every need. Everything he didn’t know how to form into words.

And as he wrapped himself around you and as you giggled against his mouth, Din fell apart completely. He didn’t know how to tell you that, either.

But he wasn’t a man of many words, anyways.


	5. Echoylir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "to grieve."

It took almost a month for Din to find any trace of the Jedi.

After the time in Sorgan, the new bounty Din had picked up had given him plenty of credits—enough for the three of you to last at least another two months, easily. And so he spent his time hunting down the _Jedi_ instead—a race that the Armorer had mentioned almost a year prior. A people that, supposedly, could help the child.

And maybe, if they were willing, they could help you, too.

Much more than he could.

Neither the Guild nor Cara Dune knew anything about the Jedi. And the Armorer had long since vanished, her work finally complete—so that led Din to hunt down information the messy way: gossip.

Cantinas were the best method of getting what he needed—drunkards were talkative, anyways, and the non-droid workers were easy to bribe. But the beskar drew too much attention—Din couldn't just simply walk in and ask for information, not without receiving wary stares.

That's where you came in, though.

And so that night, the three of you were in the cantina, the baby swaddled in the crook of Din's arm as you chatted up strangers on the other side of the room. He didn't like it, not one bit—truth be told his hand _itched_ for the blaster at his side every time he caught a leery gaze—but you had volunteered. You had _begged_ him, even, to help. And he couldn't deny that you were capable—you had a soft smile and softer hands and a voice that could unravel _anyone_. Din needed that to get the information you both wanted.

And so he swallowed his unease, gripping the bar in front of him as he watched you play the customers like strings.

You were _good_ at it, too. You had no malice behind your intentions, no underlying motivation behind your eyes. You were honest. Genuine. Kind. It got you much farther than his money or his weapons ever could, that much Din could tell.

“That woman over there—she yours?”

Din has long since given up on asking the bartenders for information—they were very obviously _clueless_ , much to his irritation—and so he instead resorted to small talk. At least until the baby was done eating. But one of the workers stuck around, cleaning the counter space near him as she cooed at the baby.

Din didn’t really know how to respond to her flippant question. But—

“Why do you ask?” he said anyways. The baby in his arms shifted, patting Din’s forearm and giggling. Already done with his meal—that endless-stomached womp rat.

The woman, know leaning against the counter, merely scoffed. “You’ve been eyein’ every soul that looked 'er way. Anger's just _flowin'_ off of ya, Mandalorian."

Din found himself shifting in his seat at the woman's comment--but she wasn't _wrong_.

At that moment, you stood abruptly, smiling to the group behind you and stepping towards Din. With your hand on his bicep, he stood, watching as a particular male grew red in the face at his presence. 

Just for good measure, he brushed his fingers across your waist. You snickered, completely aware of what he was doing--but still, you allowed it. Even grabbed his hand when he tried to retract it, placing it on your hip until you were back on the ship.

"Osakar," you said, once the ramp had closed behind you. "On the Outer Rim. A group I met said there was a Jedi outpost still running near the equator, in the mountains. They . . . they said the people there could help us."

Din nodded, setting up the security systems for the night as you stood, frozen. He set the child in the crib and removed himself of his armor quietly. Still, though, you didn't move. Feet glued to the floor, face staring blankly at the wall. Oddly silent.

" _Cyar'ika_?"

For a moment, you didn't respond, wringing you hands together. Picking at the skin of your fingers. And then--

"I'm scared."

That made Din pause completely. And something deep inside him hesitated at that, too, stirring uncomfortably at the idea of you being _frightened_ \--

"Why?"

In a moment, his gloves were removed, and then his helmet. He approached you ever so slowly, gauging your reaction.

He watched as you breathed in. Once, twice. And then his bare hand came to rest on the small of your back, and you shifted towards him.

"The thought of . . . being with others _like_ me, and learning what I am, and figuring out what I can do . . ." You swallowed thickly. "It _terrifies_ me."

It made sense, if Din though about it. You'd been alone your entire life. You'd been gifted this . . . _thing,_ whatever it was, and you'd been abused because of it. Maker, you'd lost your _sight_ because of it. And the thought of facing it head-on, learning exactly what had been the cause of everything you'd endured . . .

If Din were you, he'd be terrified, too.

" _K'olar,_ " he said, beckoning you in his native tongue--he knew just how much _Mando'a_ calmed you, anyways. You turned to him fully in response, placing your trembling hands on the skin of his hips.

Stepping forward, he raised your head to be level with his--and then kissed you, once. Twice. Thrice, until you were leaning against him completely. Then until your hands stopped shaking. And then he leaned back, letting you press your palms against the sides of his face, and kissed each fingertip as you traced the dips and scars on his skin. Let you stroke the hairs on his chin, the curls near his ears.

" _Ni'm ti gar_ ," he said softly. _I'm with you._

He repeated it until you believed him.

* * *

It took a day to travel to Osakar--but once you were there, tracking down the outpost in the mountains was fairly easy. They weren't a military outpost by any means--they seemed like a common village more than anything. Small huts and cottages fit snugly into the mountainside with small hearths scattered throughout. Children and families dotted the land, wrapped in cloaks of heavy fur. Overall, they seemed peaceful, welcoming. Ordinary. As if a strange sort of magic didn't lurk under their skins.

Din lowered the _Razor Crest_ onto a level mountain peak, overlooking the settlement below. The cold bit into his armor when the wind flew through the ramp’s opening--but you and the child were wrapped in any spare clothes he could find, and so he could deal with a little chill.

A paved, icy road led from the mountain peak to the village, lined with snow-covered trees and not much else. It didn't take long for the three of you to traverse the terrain, and eventually you came across a tall, wooden gate separating you from the village.

The only one guarding it was an older man, adorned with furs strapped across his shoulders and bare hands at his sides. You and Din slowed.

"(Y _N L_ N), of Lothal," he called.

You stopped in your tracks.

"And Din Djarin," he continued. "A Mandalorian of the Mudhorn clan."

In one swift move, Din picked up the baby at his feet, holding the child in the crook of his own arm and pushing you directly behind him. In another, Din whipped his blaster from its holster, aiming it straight at the man's chest. The man didn't seem fazed, though. Only _amused_.

"How do you know who I am," Din ground out, holding the blaster tighter. From behind him, Din could feel you tensing.

The man shrugged, still unmoving from his spot down the road. "The Force tells me many things, warrior. And it seems to tell your companions many things, too."

Through the buffer of his helmet, Din could _hear_ you as you froze completely. Breath hitching, hands clenching. Wholly still.

"We mean you no harm," the man continued, holding his empty palms to the sky. "We don't serve as warriors here. You've come here for knowledge, yes?"

Din turned his head enough to watch as you swallowed. "Yes," you said. Ever so softly.

The man smiled. "We're here to provide it to you."

With a beckoning hand, the man turned on his heel and headed through the open gates. You and Din followed slowly, Din still clenching the blaster near his thigh.

Eventually, though, the barren path led straight into the heart of the village, different roads branching off and zigzagging up to cottages. Men and women and children were scattered around the area--and though they all seemed to recognize Din's armor, they paid the four of you no mind. It was . . . odd.

"We don't seek violence here," the man said over his shoulder, leading you to a handful of log benches circling a fire. A large pot sat directly over the flames --one that he checked the contents of before continuing.

"War's been rampant in our galaxy for far too long. We want harmony--and for those who come in peace, we offer it freely."

From behind Din, you spoke up. "We come here looking for answers."

The man, now standing close to the flames, beckoned for you both to sit--though Din didn't move until you did.

With a raise of his bare hands, a distant bell sounded. Gaggles of children came running to the fire, swarming the area with bowls and wooden utensils clasped in your hands. Mealtime, then.

The baby, still snuggled in the crook of Din's arm, patted Din's chest and squealed at the commotion, his ears flapping as he bounced. The nearby children cooed.

"I'm well aware of what you are looking for, my dear," the elder continued, ignoring the children lining up at his side. "I'm more than willing to teach you the ways of the Force--but for the answers you seek about the child, I'm afraid I can't help you."

Something within Din fell.

He could feel your disappointment too, as if it were a tangible thing--but still, you managed to pull yourself together.

"I'll take what you're willing to teach me," you responded. Din felt a tinge of _something_ in your voice--anxiety, perhaps. It didn't bode well for his own nerves.

The man waited until a few of the children's parents reached the fire to step forward. Slowly, he offered a hand to you.

Din brushed his fingers over your thigh. The man meant to teach you alone--which, in this place, could mean anything. But still, Din felt oddly _calm_ here. Welcomed.

You took the man's hand.

And Din watched as you walked down a rocky path into a large, open cabin, and he wondered why he didn't feel nervous at all.

* * *

The people there treated Din and the child to warmed soup and bread, gathering around the fire in groups as dusk drew closer. Surprisingly, they completely respected the fact that Din couldn’t eat with them—they even kept a pot of soup simmering until he decided to slip into a nearby cottage, putting a little extra in the container in case the baby got hungry again. They seemed entertained at how much the child could eat.

He must have spent hours with the villagers, learning more about their culture and their way of living in the planet—but still, there was no trace of you.

Periodically, a flash of anxiousness would flare in his chest. He didn’t like the idea of you being separated from him on an alien planet whatsoever, because really, _anything_ could go wrong. But then something unfamiliar and rumbling inside him would wash over him like the tide, and he would calm. He didn’t know _how_ , but he knew you were fine.

Din didn't see you until he retired for the night, pulling back the flap of the insulated tent they provided for the three of you. He had merely gone outside for less than a minute, borrowing warmer clothes for both him and the child—but somehow you had slipped in when he wasn’t noticing. Din walked in to see that you had already changed into thicker clothing, kneeling on the furs covering the floor and holding the hand of the sleeping child in front of you.

If Din was quiet enough, he could hear you humming.

Silently, Din undressed, piling his chill-bitten armor in the corner and changing into more insulated clothing. With a hiss, his helmet was removed. You didn't seem to notice.

You didn't speak until Din picked up the child, tucking him in a pile of blankets near Din's side of the tent.

"They said the Force is common amongst the Jedi," you spoke. Facing away from him, towards the tent's exit.

"It's . . . _energy_ , seeping from all living things. They said it binds the universe itself together."

And then you paused.

"The man . . . he taught me how to see."

Din's breath caught in his throat.

As if you could sense his heart stopping, you continued, "Not like _that_. He said the Force could heal my eyes if I wanted, but I didn't. He just taught me how to see . . . differently, I guess."

And then you turned, moving closer to Din until your knees touched his. And then slowly, silently, you removed his glove. Then the other, until both his palms were bared to the ceiling and his knuckles were brushing against your thighs.

"Before, I used a messy sort of echolocation to help me understand what was around me--and then touch to figure out the details. You know that. But now . . ."

With a single finger, you traced the lines in his palms. The scars on his fingertips. Still, Din didn't move. He was too afraid that if he did, everything building up inside him would break.

"I can _sense_ things, outlines," you continued, with a brightness in your tone that Din hadn't sensed before. "I can sense the slopes of the tent and the way the top droops in the middle. And I can see the _forms_ of people, instead of just vague shapes . . . and when I touch, I can visualize it clearly. As if I was seeing in black and white."

With slow movements, you brushed a hand up his arm and across his chest. And then you _giggled_.

"You're much . . . _broader_ than I imagined."

If Din wasn't caught so off guard, he would've laughed, too. Instead he managed a smirk.

"I'm not necessarily a twig," he replied. You grinned brighter at that.

You raised your hand higher until you were brushing the hairs on his chin, circling his mouth. And then you cupped his cheek, fingertips brushing the roots of his hair. He leaned into your touch.

"What color is it?" you asked. He had told you this before, after he had first kissed you and you explored the bumps and divots of his skin, but--

"Brown," he whispered. You smiled reverently. As if you were touching him for the first time all over again.

With your other hand, you released his own to trace his nose, his eyebrow, the cracks at the corner of his eyes--

"Brown," he said again. You hummed in response.

For a moment, Din fought the urge to utterly _collapse_ at your touch. His mind reversed to the time in the jungle, when you had held his hands and traced his armor for the first time--

But no, this was different. Deeper.

This time, he felt whole.

He felt his chest constrict, his heart seizing, and then he was falling, falling, _falling_ \--

"You're beautiful," you whispered. And Din felt himself finally hit the ground, all of the air rushing out of him.

" _Cuyir pal'vut_ ," he blurted. _Be mine._

If he was honest with himself, he had been playing with the idea for a while. Ever since Sorgan, really. The idea of being _without_ you terrified him--there was no point in denying it any longer. He had given his soul to you months ago.

Now, he wanted to hold yours.

And though you didn't understand completely, you smiled anyways, and Din could've sworn that you knew _exactly_ what he meant. And that twist deep down in his stomach, that deep-rooted fear, finally soothed.

" _Gedet'ye_ ," he strained. And then he leaned forward, placing featherlight kisses over your eyes. Then the corner of your lips. Then your left palm, still cupping his cheek.

You caught his lips with your own.

"Tell me what to do," you said.

* * *

For a few days, the group of you remained in the mountains. The people continued to treat you all warmly--and they gave Din the supplies he needed for the _Razor Crest_ , so Din couldn't necessarily complain.

The leader--Ordin, as he was called--continued to teach you more about the Force, helping you understand how the _thing_ beneath your skin functioned. And slowly, surely, Din could see you grow more comfortable. More sure of yourself.

Most of the time, you weren't around--either somewhere higher on the mountainside or in the woods, learning more about the Force. Today, though, you had pushed your morning lessons aside with Ordin to spend time with _him_. And so there you were, hair sprawled out in knots as you dozed on the tent furs.

Den had long since dressed, playing with the child in his lap as he waited for you to wake. The child was mostly quiet-- _mostly_ , save the sporadic squeal he let out as Din bounced him on his knee.

Suddenly, as Din was in the middle of feeding the child breakfast, you sat up abruptly, throwing the furs off of you and breathing heavily.

Din paused, his chest feeling heavy. From where he was, he reached forward with a bare hand, fingers hovering over your calf.

"You alright?"

He tried not to let his worry seep into his tone. You both had dealt with this before, anyways. On multiple occasions.

Curling into yourself slightly, all you did was nod. It took longer than normal to get your breathing under control.

You didn't speak until Din let those fingers brush against your calf. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." And then you shook your head, as if pushing the images from your mind away. "Just a nightmare."

Din didn't seem all that convinced--usually you would go right into explaining, often having the same recurring dream. This time, though, you were oddly quiet about it. Something different this time, evidently.

You didn't give any time for Din to come up with any response, though. You had pulled yourself out of bed quickly, patting the child on the head and kissing Din's temple as you stepped out of the tent.

"I need to talk to Ordin about something," was all you said. Din heard a slight tremble in your voice--something that did no good to Din's own nerves.

By the time he found the right words to speak, though, you were long gone.

Even though he tried to shake it--and he _tried_ \--everything felt . . . off. You had been gone for hours, and though everything in the village was _normal_ , he couldn't shake the twisting in his gut. He felt _sick_ , though he didn't know why.

It took him while longer to figure out that feeling was dread.

Din was sitting near a fire pit with some of the village children when you had appeared, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him up.

Din felt his chest sink, his breathing heart with it. But he swallowed that feeling--for you, anyways, and for the child. The last thing he would want to do would be to distress the baby at his feet.

"What's wrong?" he asked, squeezing your hand as you pulled him towards a nearby cottage. The day was foggy--enough so that Din could barely see a dozen of meters ahead of him.

You got towards the door when you opened your mouth to speak--but then, somewhere inside his helmet, Din's comlink shuddered on.

"Ma--. . . _and_ . . . come i-. . . _Mando, come in_ \--"

Din stopped dead in his tracks. 

"Mando, thi-- . . . Cara . . . --eef, _come in_ \--"

It was distant, and it was choppy, but Din got the message.

In an instant, Din swiped the baby up from the ground and barreled towards you, pulling you towards the cottage wall. The sounds of ships echoed in the distance. 

"This is Din--Cara, what's wrong?"

Months ago, Din had given Cara Dune a new comlink to keep in touch, just in case anything were to go awry. But comlinks didn't have a long range, and Din was hearing it _thousands_ of planets away from Navarro, which meant--

"It's . . . ff Gideon, he-- . . . racked you-- . . . over--"

Din felt like he couldn't breathe.

Gideon-- the man who brought Din and the baby so much hell. The man Din had destroyed, bombing his tie fighter out of the sky. He thought he had _killed_ him--  
"That's what I was going to tell you," you whispered, moving the child into your arms. There was an ache in your voice that Din didn't understand.

He didn't have time to question you though--not as, much to his horror, _dozens_ of stormtrooper transport ships emerged from the clouds above. Landing on the mountain peaks with echoing booms.

And then, amongst all of them, a single tie fighter ship.

Din wanted to vomit.

Distantly, an alarm sounded, echoing through the village like an apocalyptic trump. You grabbed Din's forearms as he pressed you and the child up against the cottage wall.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him--and then Ordin was there, unfazed at Din's blaster pressed against his chest. Distantly, Din could see two x-wing ships landing behind a grove of trees.

"My people are retreating into the mountain," Ordin was saying, stepping away from you and Din--and it was true; all around you, villagers were rushing around, gathering supplies and sprinting into caves. The sounds of unloading weapons and stormtrooper feet echoed down the mountain slopes.

"You are welcome to come with us, but I believe you have other plans."

From behind Ordin's shoulder, Cara and Greef sprinted through the snow and weaved through the villagers, running towards the four of you. Even from a distance, Din could see the rage on Cara's face.

"He's here for us," Din managed to ground out, past the pressure in his lungs and the lump in his throat. "He'll destroy you all if we come with you."

"We need to get to the _Razor Crest_ ," you whispered. Din could feel a trembling hand press against his back as the sounds of marching feet grew closer.

Ordin clenched his jaw. "Is this what you foresaw, child?"

Now at Din's side, you nodded.

But Din didn't have any time to process his confusion--because then Cara and Greef were there, and Ordin was retreating to a nearby cave.

Cara managed to quickly clasp Din's forearm in greeting--but then the distant marching stopped, and Din spun on his heel to face the looming mountain.

Through the thick fog, Din couldn't see anything.

And then, from amongst the mist, a single, red blaster bolt fired.

It hit inches from Din's feet.

Cara managed to yank Din back before another shot fired--and then another, and another, until blaster bolts fell from the mountain like rain.

Everything was chaos.

Through the mist, troopers immediately began firing, uncaring as to who was hit--child or man or woman alike as they all ran for cover. Din immediately threw you and the child behind a nearby rock outcrop, shielding you as blaster fire shot over your heads.

All that was flowing through Din's veins was pure _panic_.

For a moment, both he and Cara were able to cover the group--and then you were all running, sprinting through the village gates and clamoring up the snowy path. Blaster fire followed you, nipping at your feet as you fled. Din felt his own heartbeat in his head, thrumming with adrenaline and _fear_ \--but he had pulled you and the child in front of him as he ran, covering the two of you with his own body and shooting at the troopers that ran for you.

It felt like a lifetime before you had reached the _Razor Crest,_ sprinting to the ship as the entrance ramp creaked open. For a moment, all was silent. All but your collective breathing and the pulsing in Din's ears. And then--

"It's been a while, Din Djarin."

The voice made his blood run cold.

You stepped closer to Din's side, handing the baby off to Cara before you reached for Din's arm. The ramp hit the ground with a dull _thud_.

Slowly, Din turned around.

Gideon was only a handful of meters away, staring at Din with a blank expression that made Din fall completely still. Behind him were dozens of stormtroopers, all with their blasters raised.

Gideon responded to Din's silence with a raised brow. "You leave me to rot in a Navarro desert, only to equip yourself with _another_ prize for me." A small smile graced his lips as he motioned at _you_. Din took a step forward, shielding you.

"(YN LN), of Sorgan. What a pleasure."

From behind Din, your teeth clicked as you clenched your jaw. "My parents are from Lothal," you seethed.

Gideon only _laughed_. "You may be a Force user, but you're _dim_ , child. Mina and Torin merely stole you and murdered your parents once they discovered your capabilities--it's quite a story, I must say. You should ask them about it," he mused.

Something in Din's gut _squeezed_.

"That's _enough_ ," Din cut in, raising his blaster and pointing it right in between Gideon's eyes.

Gideon scoffed, unfazed. “I'll make you a deal, Mandalorian," he said. "You give me the girl and the child, and I'll let you and the rest of your friends leave."

For a moment, the image of you and the baby at the monster's mercy popped into Din's head--

"No," Din snapped. Never.

Over his dead body.

Gideon chuckled--but he didn't look remotely surprised. "No consideration in my offer," he said. And then he paused.

"Fine."

Suddenly, Gideon raised his hand, palming a familiar saber with the other--

At Gideon's side, a death trooper fired a single shot. Aimed directly for the unarmored junction of Din's neck and shoulder.

Din shrunk back, raising his arms to block it with his beskar--only to witness as the bolt stopped, hovering inches from his face. And then dissolving in thin air. In Din's peripheral, a hand came into view, fingers spread wide. And then you were there--stepping directly in front of him. Shielding him completely.

Gideon, witnessing everything, raised a brow. "Alright," he said. Unamused, unsurprised.

"Fire away."

In a single moment, every stormtrooper fired at once, showering bullets of red and green. Greef, Cara, and Din all dropped to the floor, Din pulling you with him, expecting the worst--

But you remained standing, hands still spread wide. And Din watched as every bolt paused in front of you, as if hitting a wall--

_A Force barrier._

Days ago, you had mentioned it in passing--tales of warriors that had blocked attacks with walls of pure energy. But you had said that such a barrier usually only lasted a few hits before collapsing completely, exhausting the user.

You were blocking _hundreds_ of bullets, and you still stood.

And then, through the brightness of the bullets, Din watched as you reared your arms back--

With an extensions of your arms, a wave of energy rushed out of you, flowing towards Gideon and the troopers. It rolled over them and pushed like the tide, throwing them hundreds of meters backwards--

Where multitudes of warriors stood, now there was nothing.

For a minute, Din was frozen completely--simply watching you as you breathed and tilted your head back towards the sky. And then Cara and Greef moved towards the ship, Cara shouting "Let's go," behind her back, and it stirred Din into moving.

The soldiers, though likely bruised and beaten, would come back. Perhaps not all of them--but enough to cause Din enough trouble. Din couldn't risk it.

Standing and lunging forward, Din grabbed your side and pulled you to the ship, falling in line behind Greef and Cara--

You didn't move.

"Cara," you called, ignoring Din completely. Cara, halfway up the ramp, froze.

You continued. "When I raise my hands, you signal Greef, and you take off."

Din only glanced behind him for a moment to witness Cara's nod and quiet "okay," from where she stood. She cradled the baby closer to her chest.

The meaning of what you were saying sunk into Din's stomach like a lead weight, and all Din could hear was the roaring in his ears.

And then you were pulling at his hand, removing it from your side and intertwining your fingers with his--

"Hey," you whispered, seeping through the pounding in his head. For a moment, everything went quiet. Everything but your voice and your breathing. "It's alright."

"We need to leave," was all Din could drag out. _They're coming back, we need to leave_ \--

"I dreamed about this," you said. And you sounded so hopeful, so _calm,_ and Din could hear his own chest cleave in half. "It was the Force, talking to me."

"We need to go," Din said-- _pleaded_. "If we leave right now--"

You raised a hand up and cupped the cheek of his helmet. "No, Din. We won't make it. They'll come back and shoot the ship down before we leave the atmosphere."

Sure enough, Din could hear the soldiers readying to charge the hill again, regrouping.

But Din wouldn't take that as an answer, and he began to beg again--

"Din."

Slowly, carefully, you moved your hand from his cheek, only to slip it under his helmet. Your fingertips brushed his jaw.

"Din," you said again. Gently, lovingly.

"(YN), _cyar'ika_ , please--"

"I love you, Din."

It sounded like a goodbye.

And Din couldn't bare the pain that washed over him. Pulled him under completely, drowning him.

" _Mhi solus tome_ ," he begged. Reciting the promise he made days earlier.

" _Mhi solus tome_ ," you repeated.

And then the hope in your face fell apart. Din grabbed your hand harder, fully prepared to drag you to the ship himself if he had to.

Suddenly, you removed your hand from his grip, raising it to his eye level. You heaved a shaky breath, and then--

"You will leave without me," you said.

And something swept over him, and he couldn't _think_ \--

"I will . . . leave . . . without you," he ground out. It tasted bitter in his mouth.

And slowly, carefully, Din took heavy steps back towards the ship. He didn't know why he did--he only knew that he _had_ to, that you _told_ him to . . .

He made it to the top of the ramp when Cara reached for him, grabbing him by the shoulder and holding him in his spot. But Din could only stand, waiting. Watching as you stared up at him with such _longing_.

The first troopers finally made it to the peak. Their helmets glinted in the sunlight. And suddenly, you turned around to meet them, throwing your hands up in surrender and kneeling to the ground--

" _Now!_ " Cara yelled, shouting up to Greef in the cockpit.

Slowly, the _Razor Crest_ took flight.

And then everything that had controlled him before fell off of him like water, and all he felt was sheer _panic_. Because you were there, kneeling in the snow, blocking the rain of blaster bolts, and Din was not.

Shoving off Cara's hold, Din sprinted, throwing his body through the opening in the ramp--

But Cara caught him. Nearly tackled him to the floor, ignoring his pleads as she dragged him backwards. And then, with a quick hand, she handcuffed him to a pipe in the wall.

Somewhere inside the ship, the baby began to cry.

And so as the _Razor Crest_ lifted off, Din had to watch in complete horror as the troopers surrounded you completely. Your hands were pressed against the ground as you knelt, your face lifted towards the open sky--

Then, as Gideon took slow, measured steps towards you, you snapped your head down. You lifted one hand from the ground. Clenched it.

From high above you, the mountains shook.

Petrified and shaking, Din watched as Gideon and the troopers swiveled on their heels, staring at the trembling mountain--

From its peak, rocks began to break. Then boulders. And then snow, piled up in layers, fell with it.

And as an avalanche began to barrel towards you, you raised your face up to the sky again and smiled.

In one moment, Din could almost feel you next to him. Curling around him, toes brushing his calves, your face pressed against his neck. He could see your grin, see you playing with the baby and giggling as he watched. He could feel your lips against his cheek, his neck, his own mouth. He could feel you intertwined with him completely, body and soul.

And in the next, Din watched the avalanche wash over you, burying you in white.

And then you were gone.


	6. Atiniir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "to endure,"

It took until his vision went blurry that Din realized he wasn’t breathing.

Distantly, Din could feel Cara’s hand on his shoulder, hear the ramp click shut. He could feel the metal of the floor as his hand dropped, then his entire body soon following, finally free of the handcuffs chaining him to the wall.

He couldn’t feel his heart in his chest, though.

He was fairly certain it was gone.

The baby at his side is what shook him, made him rise from his stupor. He had somehow crawled from the cot to Din's side, grasping onto the folds of his shirt. Still sniffling--on the verge of tears. And with one tiny, little hand, he reached for the ramp--for you. Getting further and further away with each _second_ that dragged by.

No. _No._

Din wouldn't take it.

Because that twist in his stomach, that familiar ache in his chest, whispered to him that you weren't gone. It pounded in his head, slamming its fists against his helmet, clawing at his ribcage--

Over the months that he'd known you, he'd been able to _feel_ when you were hurt. Whether a bruise or a gash or scrape--he'd felt it, as if it were his own. He didn't know why.

And this time--though it felt like he was burning from the inside out, and though it pulled the air from his lungs and his heart from his chest, he didn't feel _pain_.

You weren't gone. He would have _felt_ it if you were.

In one fell swoop, Din jumped to his feet, sweeping up the baby into his arms. And then he was sprinting to the ladder, pulling himself up to the second floor, bounding towards the cockpit--

"Take me back," Din demanded, pulling Greef by the shoulder. His hands were on the controls, and the movement made Greef's palms jerk to the side and the ship tilt--but still, Din didn't care.

"Take me back," he repeated-- _seethed._

Cara, now behind him, grabbed Din by the arm. Din only shrugged her off and set the baby on the floor.

Ignoring Greef's protests, Din ripped him from the pilot's seat and made the ship slow into repulsorlift, hovering hundreds of meters above the ground. Greef tried to yank at Din's shoulder.

Din twisted around and jammed a finger into Greef's chest. " _We're going back_ ," he fumed.

Greef, wide-eyed, wrapped his hand around Din's and pulled it from his own chest. "You're insane," he muttered.

But Din wasn't deterred. "We're going back to get her."

At this point, his blood was boiling, _itching_ to move, and every _second_ wasted stalling risked too much--

"Din--" Cara started--but Greef cut her off.

"Are you out of your _mind_!" Greef spat. "Your lover is _dead._ You saw it for yourself. She's dead and _gone,_ Din, and you need to move on before you turn us into corpses, just like _her_ \--"

In a single movement, Din ripped his vibro-blade from his boot and pressed its tip against Greef's chin.

"You watch what you say about my wife," Din growled.

The air went silent, and both Greef and Cara's expressions fell. The words echoed through the cockpit.

_Wife. Wife. Wife._

With shaking hands, Din lowered the blade, sheathing it. And then slowly, he removed the glove of his left hand--to reveal a piece of cloth, wrapped twice around his ring finger.

 _Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde_.

That night, you recited it multiple times, whispering it into the neck of his shirt until you finally pronounced it right. And then Din spoke it with you, sealing it, and kissed the words from your tongue.

And in the dim light of the tent, you had torn a piece of cloth from the hem of your own shirt, twisting it around his finger and grinning. And then a piece was torn from his, wrapped around your own finger. It wasn't much, you had said--but it was enough for now. Until you both got off of Osakar and found some proper metal to melt into matching rings.

And it was enough. It was _more_ than enough.

Din wanted to curse the galaxy for taking you from him.

Cara was the first one to break the silence. "I'm so sorry, Din."

But Din's blood was still thrumming, begging him to _move._ "Take me back," he said. This time, though, it came out broken.

The cloth on his finger, still raised in the hair, seemed to mock him.

The stars stole you from him. From the baby. The universe gave him a _family_ , a _home_ \--and then it tore it apart, piece by piece.

It taunted him with something it knew he couldn't keep, and Din hated how much that _hurt_.

"Let me find my wife," Din begged.

At that point, though his entire _being_ was convinced you were still alive, all he felt was resolve. Whether your heart was still beating or not, he still needed to find you. He wouldn't let you be buried amongst monsters.

He wouldn't let you wither away in white, laying amongst thieves and killers.

You didn't deserve that.

"It's risky," was all Greef said. Something Din already knew.

But when Din didn't move, Greef took that as an answer. "Fine," he said, turning to the pilot's seat.

From there, it took only a few minutes to reach a nearby mountain peak, high enough to have remained untouched from the avalanche. But each second seemed to strain on Din, tying his nerves into knots until he couldn't feel anything anymore. He had a hard time leveling his breathing.

But then the _Razor Crest_ touched down and the baby was safely tucked away, and Din was racing down the ramp. And with a single leap, he was flying, aiming his jetpack to push him over the lip of the cliff and towards the snow below.

He didn't prepare himself for the scene, though. Various limbs and weapons and tree branches protruded from the now still snow--seeing it felt like a blow to the chest. But his eyes were still searching, even as he landed on a nearby rock jutting from the snow, looking for something, _anything_ \--

But he couldn't find you, and his helmet couldn't pick up any heat signatures under the snow--and all that he could feel pulsing through him was pure _panic_ \--

He began to call out your name. Screamed it--despite how useless it likely was. And then he couldn't think anymore, so overcome by _dread_ that his thoughts meshed together.

"Please," he begged--to the snow, the sky, to _anything_. "Please, please--"

Suddenly, something in him woke. Roaring to life, overtaking him completely.

And deep within him, that twist in his stomach _pulled_.

By some invisible force, he was shoved to his left, nearly tumbling off the boulder itself. He grabbed onto a shallow crevice on the rock's side, trying to pull himself back up--but that _thing_ inside him kept pulling. As if a rope was yanking on his abdomen.

Managing to find a better grip, Din twisted around to face the direction he was being drawn to. Searching, hunting for any sort of _sign_ \--

_There._

Ten meters away-- a single, fragile hand protruded from the snow. With a thin cloth wrapped around the ring finger.

Din nearly broke.

Then he was leaping from the rock, shooting his whipcord to wrap around a nearby tree to keep him upright--and then he was digging, _clawing_ at the snow around your hands until he could pull you from it completely.

Your eyes were closed, and your lips were blue. It made Din's heart stop, his blood running thick. But still, you were _there_ \--

In a single movement, he lifted you into his arms, retracting the whipcord and launching himself up into the air. In another, he was landing on the lip of an overhanging cliff, yanking off his glove and pressing his fingers against the frozen skin of your neck--

A heartbeat.

It was dull, and it was sparse, but it was a heartbeat nonetheless. And then when he checked your breathing--slow, but stable.

Din nearly crumpled to the ground in relief.

But he forced himself to not waste any more time--you were most likely in hypothermic shock, and hesitating any longer would risk too much. And so with another leap, he was flying straight to the ramp of the _Razor Crest_ , cradling you against his chest.

Cara waited for him on the lip of the ramp, running back inside to grab the medical pack and some blankets as soon as she saw you in his arms. An emergency cot was unfolded against the ship wall and you were laid atop it, Din yanking off your frozen layers and changing you into some extra furs.

Eventually, though, you were stable, and the _Razor Crest_ took off again. Cara had managed to heat up some bottles of water to place under your arms and gather enough blankets to cover you completely--and the baby curled up next to you, too. He even managed to transfer some of his Force healing to you before he fell asleep in the crook of your arm.

Still, Din couldn't find it in himself to calm. All that was running through his mind was pure adrenaline, traces of panic coursing through his veins. He didn't know how to stop it. He didn't know how to erase the image of you, kneeling in the snow as white washed over you. While Din was unable to stop it.

Cara, pausing at the edge of the ladder, seemed to catch on. She slowly neared Din--as if approaching a feral cat.

Din all but jumped when she touched his shoulder.

"It's alright, Din," she said, squeezing her hand. It was very obvious that the soldier was unused to this—comforting another. But still, Din understood.

"She's stable and the baby's safe," Cara reminded him. "It's all over. We can return to Navarro, and you can both lay low and recover."

"It's all over," Din repeated. _It's over._

It didn't feel like it, though.

With a final pat on the shoulder, Cara retreated, shooting a comforting glance Din's way before climbing up to the cockpit. Giving Din room to breathe.

His entire body was tense and his thoughts didn't calm whatsoever--but still, Din forced himself to stabilize. He managed to collapse at your bedside, pulling up a crate and dropping himself onto it. And then he was removing his armor, his gloves, piling it up in a box near your feet.

He didn't notice how badly he was shaking until you took your hand. Brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

He took a single breath. Then another.

And then, in the quiet hum of the ship, Din broke.

"I love you," he said, whispering it into the darkness. Watching as it fell onto the cot near your shoulder, sinking into the sheets and disappearing completely.

The thought that you had never heard him say it jumped into his mind, unwarranted and unbidden. It felt like a knife to the chest.

You had first told him you loved him on Sorgan, whispering it into the night as you curled up against him. It stopped him completely, freezing him down to the marrow of his bones. He didn't say anything. Neither did you.

The second time was the night you visited the cantina, after he had held you and kissed your worries away. You had whispered it into his mouth--he only kissed you harder. And third time was when you spoke your vows, burying your words in the crook of his neck like a promise.

And all those times, though he _felt_ it, the words piled up in his throat until he was choking. And though he _knew_ he loved you, and though you knew he did, too, he still didn't say it. He couldn't.

He didn't know why.

"I'm so sorry," Din said, again and again and again. Whispering it into your fingers, your knuckles, until he was able to keep the guilt from swallowing him whole.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

For the first time in years, Din let himself cry.

* * *

You remained in a coma for three weeks.

During that time, Din left Cara and Greef on Navarro and returned to Sorgan. Not back to the village you had stayed in weeks ago, to people that had received you all with open arms. No, this time he returned to the other side of the planet. To a village just as small, with people who had offered him sanctuary over a year ago.

He was sure that Omera would be willing to help.

This time, he landed the _Razor Crest_ closer to the village. Close enough to the point where he was completely unsurprised when little Winta came running, swooping up the baby into a bear hug.

When she saw Din, though, cradling you in his arms, she became solemn.

“I’ll go tell Mother,” she said. And then she was off, carrying the baby in her arms with Din following closely behind.

If Omera was surprised at Din’s company, she didn’t show it—no, she simply dropped her fishing basket and trotted toward the both of you, brushing a hand over the curve of your brow and laying the other on Din’s shoulder.

“We need a place to stay,” was all Din said. Guilt bit at his own words, nearly swallowing them completely—but Omera has offered him sanctuary long ago, if he needed it. He knew that offer still stood.

Eyes fluttering over his frame, Omera nodded. “Of course,” she said. And then she gave a small, comforting smile, as she always did. “I’ll go prepare you a room.”

And Din didn’t speak any more on the matter until you were settled, curled up in a few thin sheets and Din’s own shirt. The baby was still off with Winta, playing amongst the grasses.

Omera had long since cleaned up the room, supplying you both with cots and sheets and anything you might need. But still, she lingered. Waiting.

“She’s in a coma,” Din whispered, sitting on the cot next to your side. His eyes didn’t stray from your face—ever so peaceful.

“I don’t know when she’ll wake,” he admitted, pushing the words from his throat until it stung.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his fears chanted a single sentence—soaking the phrase up like a sponge and letting it drip it all over his thoughts.

 _If_ you’ll wake up. _If_.

He tried not to think about it.

Omera sensed everything—as she always did. But instead of offering unneeded sympathy, she merely said, “We’ll help you with anything you need.”

Din nodded, thanking her.

* * *

He remained there for another week, though it felt like an eternity. He didn't seem to do much--outside of taking care of the baby and watching over you, he didn't really do _anything_ , if he was honest. He didn't have a bounty, a mission--only sitting by your bedside and making sure the baby was entertained.

Some days, he forgot to eat. Or sleep.

He managed to relax one night, though, collapsed onto a cot adjacent to yours with the baby sprawled across his chest.

The day, like many others, had been monotonous: he had helped around the village where he could, assisting in Omera in whatever she needed--but he would always grow antsy, the distance between him and you always pulling on him like a rope. And then he would be jogging back to your room, remaining there until the villagers called him outside again. Or until Omera forced him to eat.

But you had always remained the same, eyelashes brushing your cheeks and chest slowly rising and falling. In a dreamless, eternal sleep.

He felt helpless.

Din said as much that night as he laid atop the cot, whispering it into the air and letting it float around the baby's head from where he sat upon Din's chest. In return, the baby patted Din's cheeks, giggling. And then, with one tiny, three-fingered hand, he reached forward, grasping Din by the nose.

Din grunted, turning his head to the side to relieve his nose from the child's death-grip. In response, the baby laughed outright, ears flapping as he bounced himself on Din's chest.

Something in Din's chest eased a bit at that--seeing the baby so _happy_ , so content.

The baby's giggles quickly turned into quiet snores, though--but his little breaths were enough to relieve the tension within Din. Enough for him, for the first time in days, to fall asleep.

He woke early the next morning though, jarred from his slumber from the baby's tiny feet stomping on Din's stomach as he slid off of Din and onto the floor. But the kid was smiling, though, giggling as he patted the air next to your cot before toddling away. It was enough to wash Din's irritation away in an instant.

He forced himself to eat, and then headed out to help with gathering food for the upcoming winter--anything he could do to help, to pay the villagers back. To relieve some of that guilt that always felt like it was eating him alive.

He remained at the ponds until Winta came running, though.

She tugged on Din's cape until he turned around.

"She's awake," was all she had to say.

And then Din was running.

He tried not to bump into anyone along the way--really, he tried--but he couldn't focus properly. He couldn't _think_ , his mind completely blank as he sprinted up the stairs and threw open the door's curtain--

And you were there. Sitting up on the cot, the baby swaddled in your arms. _Awake._

Omera was there, standing by your side, a small smile on her face as she observed you both. Quietly, she ushered everyone but the two of you out, sweeping the baby into her arms as she stepped outside.

Hearing the commotion, he watched as you paused, breathing in slowly as you glanced to the doorway. To _him_.

A smile overtook your face. " _Din_ ," you said, sounding so _bright_ that Din couldn't fully process it.

All it took was a look, a single _word_ spilling from your mouth, and Din broke all over again. He hadn't seen those eyes in so long, hadn't heard you _speak_ \--

Din fell to his knees.

Completely overwhelmed, completely _entranced_ , Din watched as you laughed, setting the baby down at your side.

"I can't walk, sweetheart," you said nonchalantly--as if you _hadn't_ spent the last month in a slumber. "You're going to have to come to me."

Din wasn't aware that he had moved until he was right in front of you, kneeling in between your legs. Hands hovering above you, inches from your skin.

"You left me," he rasped, his throat so thick that he could barely _speak_ \--

"I know," was all you said.

"Don't do that again," he said-- _begging_.

Slowly, carefully, you pressed your palms against the cheeks of his helmet. From where his hands were, still floating above your frame, Din couldn't stop trembling.

"I can't promise that," you replied, so brutally honest that it _hurt_. "You'd do the same for me."

And he would. He _would_ , in a heartbeat.

He'd tear the stars apart one by one if you asked.

Gently, Din lowered his hands until they rested against your thighs, rubbing his fingers against your skin until he convinced himself that you were _real_ \--

With a hiss, he watched as you removed his helmet. Then with a soft, delicate hand, you ran your fingers through his hair. Traced the hairs on his chin, the curls now nearly completely covering his ears.

Din took in a single, trembling breath.

"I love you," he said. And it felt like an oath, a finality, freeing him from that weight inside him that had been there for _so long_ \--

You grinned, pulling his left hand to your lips and kissing his glove, right over the cloth that was still wrapped around his finger. "I know," you said.

And slowly, carefully, Din couldn't help himself from pulling you to him, burying himself in the crook of your neck and letting himself fall apart in your hands.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he finally let everything go.

* * *

It took longer than you both expected for you to stabilize completely--you had lost a surprising amount of muscle mass during your slumber, so you had to build your strength up before you left the planet.

Eventually, though, the three of you headed off, parting ways with Omera and little Winta and heading back to the _Razor Crest_. He didn't know where exactly to go from there, though. He decided Navarro was a good start.

You had managed to climb up the ship's ramp before Din spotted your cot--the one you had rested in for so long--and he stopped in his tracks completely.

From where you were near the ladder, you turned on your heel. "Din?"

But Din couldn't take his eyes off the bed.

Because in that moment, every fear, every doubt, every nightmare that kept him up at night for _weeks_ came rushing back to him, sucking him under--

For a minute, all he could see was you, being buried in white all over again. Him being shackled to the wall, the baby crying in Cara's arms.

"I can't do this," Din blurted. Eyes still never straying from the cot.

You paused. "Do what?'' you asked, ever so gently. Softly probing.

With slow, measured steps, Din walked towards the cot. Hovered a hand over the sheets.

"I can't risk this," he said.

And he couldn't.

For years, he had dreamed of it--a wife, a child. He hid it in the corner of his mind, a unreachable fantasy he knew he could never attain. And for years, it remained there, never letting himself _touch_ it.

But now . . .

Now he had it. The universe had gifted him what he had always wanted--and he nearly lost it.

He couldn't risk it anymore.

Din didn't notice you had approached him until you rested a hand on his arm, squeezing. You were aware of his raging thoughts, the war waging on in his own mind--you always were.

You leaned forward and touched your lips against his shoulder, kissing the beskar. The Mudhorn signet.

"Whatever you choose, I'll be here," you promised.

In your arms, the baby learned forward, tapping the Mudhorn and squealing.

"We'll both be."

* * *

**_Six Years Later_ . . .**

It had rained overnight.

The smell of damp grass wafted through the windows, the humidity making Din’s hair puff up and curl into ringlets near the ends.

He didn’t mind, though. Not one bit.

He had long since finished his work, his trip a few towns away finally completed and the crops surrounding the cottage now prepped for the oncoming storm. But he had stayed out a little longer, though. Just to watch the sunrise.

He had missed so many during his days in the Guild. Too many.

Stepping into the cottage, Din slipped off his boots, then his shirt, and crept to the back of the house. The wooden boards creaked under his feet—something he would have to remind himself to fix.

After putting an ear up to the bedroom door and hearing nothing, he cracked it open until he could slip through.

From amongst the pile of sheets on the bed, you watched him with a cheeky grin.

“I thought you were asleep, _cyari’ka,_ “ he said—quietly, as to not wake the baby in his crib.

 _His_ baby. The last of his kind, as you had found out long ago, and one whom Din would protect with his own life.

And now, Din’s own adoptive child.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, sighing and folding your hands over your belly. Your eyes drifted towards the ceiling, unbothered by a single strand of morning light streaking across your face.

Creeping quietly across the room, Din pulled the curtain closed completely and made his way towards the bed. He watched amusedly as you drummed your hands on your bare stomach—you had recently taken upon a habit of yanking your shirt off overnight, anyways. Din had no complaints.

Slowly, Din crawled under the sheets next to you. “Baby keep you up?”

You sighed again—then raised a single finger, pointing it down to your rounded stomach. “ _This_ one did. The other one slept through the night.”

Sure enough, the baby was still snoring in his crib. Din bit back a grin—but when he saw your pouting face, he sobered.

“I missed you,” you said, whispering it into the air above you. “I know it was only a day, but still.”

Sure enough, at your side, buried underneath the sheets, was his helmet. The one he had taken off for good years ago. And though he still visited other Mandalorians from time to time, that life he had lived . . . it felt like an eternity ago.

Ages ago, if he would have known that he would have been gifted a _family_ —a child, a pregnant wife, a _home_ . . .

He would have given anything to have it. _Anything._

“Rest, _cyari’ka._ ,” was all he said, kissing your brow and pulling you to him. “I’m here.”

And in the growing light of the morning, Din curled up in the sheets, watching as you and his child drifted into a deep sleep.

And for what felt like the thousandth time that day—that morning, that _moment_ —Din Djarin smiled, feeling completely whole. 

He silently thanked the stars.


	7. Nuhoyir -- Alternate Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To slumber, to sleep."  
> Replaces chapters 5 and 6; the original ending I was planning on before I decided it was too angsty lol.  
> Warning: /angst/

Everything was supposed to be fine.

Din had equipped Cara’s help for a bounty on the outskirts of the galaxy, splitting the prize dead even to capture and deliver a runaway Imp with too much power clenched in his hands. It was a pretty simple job, completed almost too quickly. Din and Cara even _celebrated_ it with you and the baby afterwards, sipping on your supply of spotchka around an open flame.

And as dusk turned into night on the barren planet, everything seemed fine. Peaceful, even.

That was, until a group of Imps surrounded you.

Everything happened too fast—one moment, Din was with you, cradling the baby in one hand and tracing your fingers with his other, and then another, he was sprinting towards the _Razor Crest_ , forcing himself to focus as beams of ref flew over his shoulder—

He didn’t dare stutter until you were all safely on board the ship, dashing towards the baby’s hovercrib as Cara lunged for the cockpit ladder. He didn’t dare _pause_ , either, until the _Razor Crest_ took off.

For a moment, everything was silent, save the rumble of the ship in flight.

". . . Din?"

You sounded . . . _off_.

Din turned from where he crouched on the floor, setting the sleeping baby down in his hovercrib--only to witness you, standing near the ramp as it closed. Hands clamped against your abdomen, body completely frozen.

" _Cyar'ika?_ " he questioned, watching as you merely stood. Your face was wiped clean of emotion.

And then he saw the red slowly seeping out from beneath your hands, and his blood ran cold.

" _Haar'chak,_ " Din cursed, jumping to his feet to. Cara, now in the cockpit, pushed the _Razor Crest_ into hyperspace, and you lost your balance as the ship lunged forward. Din slid across the floor and caught you just as your hair touched the ground, cradling you against his chest, trying to stop the blood that was pooling in his lap, the floor, _everywhere--_

You were sprawled out in the floor in front of him, chest shaking with heavy breaths as Din managed to rip the cloak from his back. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, trying to keep your own blood from spilling with two weak hands. “They we’re ai-aiming for the baby.”

The baby, who has been wrapped up in Din’s own arms. Who would have been _safe_ , because Din could have _blocked the bullet_ —

Din’s blood boiled.

“ _Jareor_ ,” Din ground out, tearing this cloak into pieces and wrapping it around your middle. _Foolish, foolish._

Din was supposed to keep _you_ safe. You had both agreed on that—Kriff, that was the whole reason why you were _with him_. And the fact that he couldn’t protect you completely, not even when a dozen troopers raided your camp and you were _three feet beside him_ —

You would be fine. He would make sure of that.

He _had_ to.

Din managed to wrap your abdomen as best he could, using the entirety of his stripped cloak and yanking out as many useful items from the nearby medkit as he could find. But eventually his gloves became too soaked with blood, making everything too slippery, and he had to rip them off and tend to you with his bare hands. And he tried—he _tried_ —to keep your blood loss under control, but nothing he tried stopped it, nothing _worked_ —

“Din,” he heard you call. Weakly, as if you had to pull it from the pits of your own chest.

“You’ll be fine,” Din said, trying and failing to let the desperation spill from his own mouth. He had dealt with wounds before. Of course he could fix you. He _had_ to fix you.

He thought of pulling the baby from the crib, seeing if the child could help. But he had healed Cara only a handful of minutes before, leaving him out for the count.

The makeshift bandages of his cloak did no good. The wound was too deep, too wide, for stitches. Kriff, even the bacta he had stored up _ran out the night before_ —

Din had no other options.

“You’ll be fine,” he said again. As if repeating it would make it come true.

He hated how bitter the words tasted.

But with every passing moment, more blood filled the cracks in the floor, and more color drained from your face, your skin—

His hands paused against his own volition, hovering above your stomach. Deep down, a twisted part of him knew that he couldn’t do anything more.

In the moment, Din couldn’t _breathe_.

“Din,” you said. He couldn’t hear you.

His mask was suffocating him, then, pressing against his temples and his cheeks until his eyesight went blurry and he felt like he was going to _implode_ —

With two blood-soaked hands, he slammed his palms against the cheeks of his helmet, pushing up, up, up.

Only for a pressure in the air, one that was so familiar to him, shove it right back down.

“No,” you coughed out--nearly _spat_. Din looked down through blurry eyes to see a trembling, clenched hand raised above your frame. And though stuttering, though shaking, you grit your teeth and stared him straight in the eye.

“You do not give up, Din Djarin. You do not _yield_ , until that baby is safe.”

And then weaker, quieter--

"You promise me you do not yield. Even for me."

Din heaved out a shuddering breath. And then he released his palms from his face, lowering them to clutch your own hands.

"I promise," he pushed out. It felt too much like a farewell.

Your lips quirked up in response, a soft smile resting upon your face as you leaned back against the floor.

"Good," you said.

With a trembling palm, you reached up, cupping his cheek. Din pressed your hand harder against the metal.

“I love you,” you whispered. And then you whispered it again, through the shaking in your own chest, as if you remind yourself that you did.

And though he knew he never said it in return before, though it had caught in his chest too many times to count, Din responded almost effortlessly. " _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,_ " he said. " _Akay vi udes amongst te Ka'ra._ "

Your smile reached your eyes.

Slowly, you pushed yourself forward, resting your head against his chest.

You stayed there, cradled in Din's arms, until your grip went slack.

Your hand hit the floor, and then you were gone.

In that moment, the final string in his chest was cut, and Din broke apart.

And so with a promise looming over his head like a curse, and the weight of the galaxy upon his shoulders, Din began to sob.

* * *

 _ **Fifteen years later**_ . . .

Sorgan's springs were beautiful.

Flowers began to bloom--and the group of children's spirits along with it, racing along the path of wildflowers and elderberries as they skipped home. The suns were glaring directly over the children's heads--it was already noon, much to their dismay, as it was the time that mother had told them to come home. And father, too.

They didn't _dare_ risk father's scolding.

And so the three children scampered along the path, the youngest slowing to a stop to pluck a nearby flower--

Something glinted in the distance, reflecting the suns' light into his eyes and nearly blinding him. For a moment, the little one paused, watching as his elder siblings trotted on.

And then he followed the light instead.

It was merely a minute or two before his siblings noticed his absence, but he didn't mind. He had discovered something curious--strange, even. He hadn't seen such an oddly-decorated bed of flowers in the forest before.

" _Coran_!" The oldest shrieked, her voice breaking through the trees and piercing his ears. Coran winced.

And so, to keep himself from forgetting, he placed the flower atop a nearby rock--next to the rusting helmet with a t-shaped visor. And then he snatched a ring from beneath the helmet, rusted emeralds and all, and stuffed it into his pocket before scampering back to the path.

And though his mother found the ring later and began to scold him, he told her of the metal helmet amongst a bed of daises and tulips until her face softened in realization.

With a hint of a smile on her face, she handed him back the ring. "Go put your father's ring back where it belongs," she said.

Instead, he put it on his nightstand. But his father smiled when he saw it, and he didn't seem to mind, so it didn't matter much.

He would be back, anyways.


End file.
